Today is my birthday, and I turned 27. Every birthday after 21 isn’t that special. They are all the same. It’s just another year of getting older, and the next birthday that’s a big deal isn’t fun or exciting. You’re not looking forward to buying tobacco, or beer, nope the next birthday is 30. Once you hit 30, you’re no longer in your 20’s where you can fuck up and feel like it’s a growing experience; nope, 30 is when real shit starts to happen.
27 is somewhat of an outlier for birthdays after 21. It’s not a year that is fun or anything. If you have never heard of the 27 club, this is what it is. Throughout history, there are many music stars that all died when they were 27. They are Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Amy Winehouse. The late ’60s was the start of the 27 club and where most of the deaths happened. Between 69-71, we had Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin all die.
To qualify for the 27 club, you need to be a famous musician. So even if I dropped tomorrow, there’s a 0% chance of me joining that club since I can barely play the guitar. I’m not worried about joining the 27 club, but it did have me thinking. All of these stars accomplished so much at the same age I am now. Jimi Hendrix made his guitar cry as he played the Star-Spangled Banner at Woodstock; Kurt Cobain created an entirely new genre of music in grunge and had one of the greatest albums of all time, Nevermind. Jim Morrison had The Doors on top of the world as one of the best bands of the ’60s. What have I done in my 27 years on this planet? I haven’t come close to what these greats gave to the world, and somehow they were able to do all of this in 27 short years.